Tale of Two Brothers
by RK9
Summary: A Young Blades and Pirates of the Caribbean crossover. Will has a twin brother named Max, and this is his story. Brief background fic.


Disclaimer: Don't own YB, don't own POTC. Only own the storyline and my theory of Max's background.

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_CRASH! BANG! WHAM!_

The sound of breaking glass, though not uncommon in that certain London neighborhood, was still enough to wake most of the neighbors. Old Mrs. Benton stumbled, grumbling, out of her bed to her window. She peered out between the curtains just in time to see her neighbor, William Turner, being kicked out the door of his apartment, which was located right below her own. The nosey old crone grinned nastily, wondering what the young merchant seaman had done to infuriate his wife this time. Young Annabelle seemed like such a timid, fragile creature...but when Bill Turner made her angry, she exploded and transformed - and provided old Mrs. Benton with plenty of juicy gossip.

The young couple had provided quite a bit of fuel for the neighborhood grapevine ever since they had arrived in the neighborhood five years ago. Young Annabelle had been a glowing young bride then, eager to please her husband, who was so much older. And then, a year after their arrival, Annabelle had given birth to a pair of twin sons. She named her firstborn twin William, after his father, and the second one, Maximilian, after her own. At first, the young couple was living in a cloud of bliss, both ga-ga over their sons and their seemingly perfect little family.

Then Bill Turner went to sea again. He was gone for several months and Annabelle was left alone with her twins. The young woman became lonely and depressed, and when Bill actually returned home, she didn't seem very happy. But after a short time of pouting, they managed to become a happy little family again - and the twins were growing bigger. Bill and Annabelle took them out to the nearby parks often, and on other little outings.

But it could not last, and about a few weeks after the twins' third birthday, Bill left to go sailing again. This time, Annabelle was openly hostile when Bill returned, and it wasn't long before Mrs. Benton had heard them argue heatedly for the first time...and thanks to the paper thin walls, she heard every word.

"You swore you wouldn't have to leave so much once we got married! And yet you still run off with Jack Sparrow and your merchant friends and leave me alone here! I worry about you, Bill! And when I don't hear from you, I wonder...I wonder if you're still remaining faithful to your wife!"

"What? Annabelle, that's crazy! Of course I do! You know you're my one and only!"

"Do I, Bill? Sometimes you talk in your sleep and I hear names...Anna Maria, Lucille, Mary Anne..."

"Anna Maria's an old friend from Tortuga, love, and Lucille and Mary Anne are the names of ships!"

"Oh, so you prefer to dream of ships rather than me?"

"Annabelle...love...you're not being reasonable!"

"I'm not being reasonable? All right, then forget all that. It isn't right for you to go off and leave...forget me, you shouldn't leave the boys for so long! They miss you, Bill!"

"And I miss them...but I always return to them, don't I? And to you?"

And so it went on. Annabelle was suspicious, insecure, and afraid of losing her husband to some trollop across the seas, and Bill simply could not understand why she couldn't just trust him and accept that he would return.

And now, something else had happened. Mrs. Benton made little "tsk, tsk" noises with her tongue. Why did most of the really interesting events happen just before, after, or right around the twins' birthday? Was that a cursed day for the young couple or something? The old gossip sighed wistfully, wishing she had been awake to listen to the argument that no doubt had preceded Bill's being kicked out of the house. As it was, she filed away this gossip in her mind, ready to share it tomorrow with the lovely ladies who came faithfully every week to play gin rummy with her.

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Bootstrap Bill was in disbelief. His wife's final words rang in his ears like the echo of an ominous thunderclap.

"I'm getting a divorce! You stay away from me and my sons!"

She wouldn't even acknowledge him as the father of her children anymore. He still couldn't believe it. Dazed, he sat down and tried to absorb everything that had happened to him that day from the moment he had risen with the sun.

He'd woken up, then gone down to the local tavern to meet with his captain and a few shipmates, to discuss leaving on another trip, this time to search for some treasure the Spanish conqueror Cortez himself had hidden away, supposedly on an island known as the Isla de Muerta, which no man was supposed to be able to find...unless he knew where it was.

He'd never even sensed Annabelle following him. He hadn't spotted her in the tavern whilst he was laughing and joking with his pirate friends. And now, Annabelle knew. She knew that he was a pirate...and she had reacted. Badly. He'd lost her and his sons in less than a day.

His sons...pain knifed through his heart as he thought of them. Would he never see them again? Never roughhouse with little Will, who resembled him so closely, or swing little Max into the air and hear him laugh in delight?

It was too much.

Bootstrap found his feet bringing him back to the tavern. Jack. He had to speak to Jack. Jack would know what to do. He always did.

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The full moon illuminated the streets of London that night, leaving the two black-clad figures little choice but to hug the shadows of the walls and alleys as they crept through the town. They paused when they reached the dismal street that Bootstrap's house - was it still his house? - was on, and one of them finally nodded and strode forward quickly, moving to the back door of the tiny apartment and picking it quickly with a metal file. He then proceeded to let himself and his companion in and together they made their way upstairs. The young female occupant of the house had already gone to bed, and at least one of the men knew where to step so that the stairs would not creak and alert her to his presence.

He paused at the master bedroom, then took a deep breath and continued, past the tiny nursery and into a smaller bedroom, which was filled with children's toys and books. In a corner, two little boys were sleeping together in a small cot, one curled up around a teddy bear, and the other sucking his thumb as he slept.

Here, Bootstrap removed his black hood. He wanted the boys to be able to recognize him in the event that they woke up, so that they wouldn't cry out and rouse Annabelle.

"I'm sorry, Annabelle," he whispered softly, sorrow darkening his voice and making it husky with unshed tears. "You leave me no choice. You may kick me out of your life, but I won't...I can't leave my boys behind."

His companion glanced around quickly, then urged, "Hurry up, Bootstrap!"

Bootstrap nodded, and reached in, tenderly lifting the twin with the teddy bear out of the bed. "Shh, Max," he murmured, handing the little boy to his companion, who cradled him rather inexpertly but still determinedly. Bootstrap was reaching into the cot again for the other twin - and outside, Annabelle's door creaked open.

"No," breathed Bootstrap in panic, knowing that Annabelle must have awoken and was now coming, as was her habit, to check on her sons. His companion didn't hesitate, leaping to the window.

"Bootstrap! Forget him! You have one of your kids at least, let's go!"

"Not without Will!" Bootstrap started to protest, but he was cut off by Annabelle's scream.

"No! Murderer, kidnapper, ruffian! What are you doing to my babies?"

At that, the other man swore and slipped down the ivy vines outside the window, keeping a careful hold on his precious bundle. Casting an anguished glance at the cot for the last time, Bootstrap followed. The last he heard was Annabelle's wail of anger and grief as he and Jack made their way to the Black Pearl - with Max in tow.

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_(Two weeks later)_

The Black Pearl docked itself at the Paris docks with little incident, under the pretext of getting supplies. Bootstrap stepped carefully off the gangplank, Max in his arms. The little boy was looking around curiously, taking in the scene before him with wide eyes. He had curiously not been too upset at being wrenched away from his mother and brother, and everything else that he had known all his life, but had rather been excited that he was able to leave on an "adventure" with his father, whom he adored. Bootstrap didn't doubt, however, that soon he would start asking questions, and he could only hope the boy wouldn't be too upset when he found out that he would never see his mother and brother again.

"Where are we, Daddy?" Max asked, looking in wonder at the hustle and bustle of the Parisian docks, and at the market which was just nearby. "And why is everyone talking so funny?"

"They're speaking French, Maxie," answered Bootstrap gently. "You'll have to learn it soon, all right?"

"I will? Why?"

"Because," Bootstrap hesitated, "We might be staying here for quite a while."

"How long?" Max turned his head to look at him. "What about Uncle Jack and the Black Pearl?"

"They'll be leaving us here," answered Bootstrap. "We're going to stay in Paris now, son. We're...we're not going back to England. I have some family here, who are willing to take us in, and we'll be living here now."

"Without Will and Mummy?" Max's eyes were wide.

"Yes," answered Bootstrap firmly, yet sadly. "Without either of them."

Max's eyes became watery. "But...I'll miss them."

"I miss them too, son." The pirate hesitated, then added quickly, "But I'm being brave, see?"

Max's sniffling stopped. "Then...I should be brave, too?"

"Yeah."

He considered that. To Bootstrap's great relief, he nodded. "All right, Daddy."

"Good boy." Bootstrap smiled, and took a step forward. "Now, let's go find your Aunt Nellie."

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_My father didn't stay in Paris forever, though he tried, for my sake. He left shortly after I turned 6 to go to sea, promising that when he returned he would be rich and we would have every material comfort the world had to offer. I waited and waited, and grew from boy to man, but he never came back. I knew - either he had been lost at sea or he had never intended to come back. I knew it was the former, my father had loved me too much for him to promise me the world and then never return. I mourned him briefly, mourned my mother and brother - though they were not dead, their faces grew dull in my memory until I remembered them as nothing more than vague recollections...a scent, a sound, a sudden feeling, but nothing more than that._

_One day I would find them again. But until then: My name is Max Turner, and I am a King's musketeer._

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RK9.


End file.
